


Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, parks and recreation AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is getting really tired of Bellamy Blake coming to open forums to argue with her. So they end up sharing a historical house on a bet instead. Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Another Tumblr prompt I am posting as its own thing both because it's long and because I came up with a title for it. Also, I am not actually knowledgeable about textual criticism, so if I'm wrong about things blame Tom Stoppard and Wikipedia.

Clarke loves her town, she really does. It's amazing. There is nowhere in the world she'd rather live. It is the best place there is, as far as she's concerned.

But sometimes--just sometimes!--she wants to murder every single person who lives here and start over from scratch.

"I'm just saying," says Bellamy, infuriatingly calm and reasonable, "these laws have worked for us for a long time. What gives you the right to just change them whenever you want?"

"Mr. Blake," says Clarke, and bites back a satisfied grin at his brief scowl of annoyance. They've never been that close--he's a good few years older than she is, so there wasn't much school overlap, and they run in different circles now--but his sister is a year younger than she is, and they were friends before she left for college, so she certainly knows him well enough to be on a first-name basis. She just likes to piss him off with excessive formality. He likes to piss her off right back, so fair's fair. "The people gave me the right to change laws. That's why we have elections."

"I didn't vote for you so you could change our historical laws," he shoots back, and Clarke tries to ignore the odd glow of pride she feels when he says he voted for her. She didn't really think he liked her that much. He's been coming to open forums to antagonize her since she got hired on in Parks a few years back; she assumed he was actively campaigning against her, honestly. "Those historical laws are _awesome_."

"Awesome," Clarke repeats, dubious. "This is--look, the law was clearly intended to--"

"I think you should leave historical intent to historians," he says. "You can do politics."

"The history is still affecting us today, you fu--"

Wells, who doesn't even _work_ at City Hall, is the one to cut in. "Okay, great," he says. "Thanks for coming out, everyone. That's all the time we have for this open forum, but we'll post information about the next one as soon as we can."

"I know you keep saying I can't murder him, but could I maybe murder him?" she asks Wells, low, as everyone files out.

"Yes," says Raven, without looking up from her phone. "Well, sleep with him first."

"Don't do either of those," says Wells. "Never listen to Raven."

Bellamy isn't her least favorite person who comes to her meetings, mostly because he _cares_ , even if he is always wrong about everything (or, well, mostly wrong about most things). And Clarke has trouble actually hating anyone who's as passionate as Bellamy is. And he does a great job looking out for the historical society. Granted, they hate him too, but Clarke's glad someone is pointing out anachronistic font usage on official signs, because if one of their own nerds doesn't notice that, some other nerd will. and they'll post about it online and even more nerds will get pissed. It's important to have someone like Bellamy around to catch that shit first.

But he should just stay the hell out of politics.

"I'm not sleeping with him," Clarke says. "I might still kill him."

"Just saying, seems like a waste," says Raven. "He should get laid at some point in his life. Shame to waste all that hotness on a fucking nerd."

"Says the woman who programs actual rockets in her spare time," Wells mutters.

"Hey, I'm a geek, not a nerd, fuck you," she retorts cheerfully.

Before Clarke can think of a witty response, she hears someone calling her name and turns in time to see Bellamy hurrying to catch up with them.

To her surprise, Raven and Wells actually take off, so apparently Wells isn't _that_ worried she's going to strangle him. Or he's very worried, and he doesn't want to be a witness. It's best if he has plausible deniability.

It's strange actually standing next to Bellamy again; she's not sure she's done it since high school, when he was just Octavia's overly attractive brother, instead of her nemesis. He's taller than she remembered, or--well, he's not actually _tall_ , not really, but he carries himself like he is. He always manages to be looming.

And he smells good. Not that she's smelling him or anything. It's just noticeable.

"How can I help you, Mr. Blake?" she asks, bright.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and doesn't make eye contact. "You know my name, Clarke."

"This is a professional matter, right?" she asks, but there's something in his expression that gets to her, and she relents. "Hi, Bellamy."

He gives her a rueful smile. "Hi. This is a really bad idea."

"You always say that," she says automatically, but it's not really true. He doesn't say it like this. He doesn't approach her in private for a real conversation.

"Yeah, but I mean it this time."

"So you are usually just fucking with me," she says.

"Not _just_ fucking with you," he says, grinning. He has very bright teeth. Clarke usually doesn't get to see him smiling. "But this one's different."

"We're fixing a typo, Bellamy. It's like if you were protesting fixing an autocorrect error."

"It's not." He clucks his tongue. "Do you know much about Latin poetry?" At her unimpressed look, he flushes and rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, okay, but--let's just say the original texts we have for that? They're full of typos. Corruptions, misprints, you name it. The entire canon of classical poetry is like one giant game of fucking telephone."

"And?"

"And it's taken textual critics fucking _centuries_ to sort it out, and there's still work to be done."

"None of this is really clarifying your issue for me."

"So, this seems like a really easy, obvious typo to you, and it probably is, but--it's a precedent thing, okay? If we start deciding what texts actually _mean_ , without rigorous study, then we're going to start screwing things up."

"We have some really bad laws on the books, Bellamy. Like, _really_ bad. As an unmarried woman I'm technically supposed to register my menstrual cycle because it was thought to attract bears. We've never gotten that one out because someone always pairs it with gun control laws or something." She waves her hand. "The point is, there are a thousand laws that no one could ever live with, and they deserve to be revised. This is not the hill you want to die on, Bellamy."

"Or you could just keep ignoring laws you don't like until bears eat you because you're not taking proper precautions," he says. She squints at him, trying to figure out if he's joking. At last, he takes pity on her and cracks a smile. "I'm just saying, we should assume the laws are there for a reason. You know there are plenty of them I don't agree with--" She snorts, and he laughs outright. They've gotten into some pretty intense fights about policies he thinks only benefit the wealthy, and Clarke has to admit that he's usually right when it comes to that stuff. She grew up rich; she has some blind spots. "I know you're always trying to do the right thing," he says, making her cheeks heat up a little. "But give it twenty years and someone who's not as good as you are is going to use this as an excuse to change some good laws, instead of getting rid of a harmless tradition. I'd rather just keep the tradition. Or pretend it doesn't exist, like all the bear laws."

"I'm not going to quit on this," Clarke says, and when he opens his mouth to protest, she continues, "Not just this. I get what you're saying, I do, but--we have shitty laws, and I want to clean them up. And that includes getting rid of weird typos and laws that just don't apply anymore. We couldn't live like the founders did, so why are we trying to?"

Bellamy gives her a calculating look. "What do you mean we couldn't live like the founders did?"

"No email, no grocery stores, no cell phones--"

"I could do that," he says, shrugging.

Clarke eyes him warily. "You could?"

"Sure."

"You could not."

"I could." He grins. "I bet you couldn't, though. I've seen you with your smart phone at meetings."

"I get a lot of emails!" She worries her lip. "You're not going to let this go, are you? Article Two."

"Nope."

"Okay, so--I bet I can last longer living colonial-style than you can."

"Colonization worked out way better for your people than mine," he says. "Just, you know. Historically speaking. What happens if I win?"

"I'll let it go," says Clarke. "Article Two is off my list of things to get changed. As are any other things I think are _obvious mistakes_ instead of gross sexist and/or classist and/or racist holdovers from a much more horrible time. And if I win, you stop coming to open forums."

He actually looks kind of hurt. "Forever?"

She worries her lip. It would probably be bad if she never heard his opinions again. He's a fucking ass and he's annoying as shit, but--sometimes he knows what he's talking about. "You can come, but you can't talk. If you have opinions, you can give them to me _after_ the meeting. I can't swear at you in public, I'm a government employee."

The corner of his mouth twitches into something close to a smile. "So, I can still tell you I disagree with you, just privately?"

"Yup. And I get to call you a dickhead."

He considers and then nods, mostly to himself. "Deal," he says, offering her his hand. "Whoever lasts longer wins. I've got just the place."

*

"So, what part of this felt like a good idea?" Wells asks.

"You left!" Clarke protests. "It all happened too quickly. He was being honest and trying to reason with me and talking about the history of textual analysis! He caught me off-guard."

"And now you're living together."

Clarke makes a face. "When you put it like that, it sounds weird."

"Okay, tell me what happened in a way that doesn't make it sound weird."

Clarke groans and thunks her head down on the desk. "Fine, it's weird. He's really active in the historical society so he got them to loan us one of the houses in the historical village to use."

"Griffin--"

"I know."

"We met because my boyfriend fell into a pit and this is still the stupidest thing I've ever seen someone do."

"It is not, I've seen Wick do way stupider things. He once ate a candy bar without taking the wrapper off. He just forgot."

"Have you told Miller yet?"

"No way. We're starting after work on Friday, so if I'm lucky, Nate never has to know. Bellamy will be gone by Sunday."

"It's Bellamy now?"

"I knew his sister in high school," says Clarke, trying to sound casual. "I just call him Mr. Blake to piss him off."

"This just sounds like a worse and worse idea."

Clarke rubs her face. "I know. But--I like nature. I can survive without technology. I don't need it. I never watch TV, I don't listen to that much music--"

"You're always on the phone, you get twitchy if you can't check your email--"

"Whose side are you on here?"

"No one's," says Wells, implacable. "I hope you both get eaten by coyotes." 

"Yeah, okay," says Clarke. "That's fair."

*

As a city council member, Clarke definitely has better things to do than spend a weekend roughing it in a colonial house with Bellamy Blake to prove that some things absolutely need to change. 

As a stubborn asshole, though, there is nowhere else she will even consider being.

"This is one of the demonstration houses," Bellamy is explaining. "That means it has furniture and appliances we can actually use, instead of not being allowed to touch anything." Jasper and Raven are nodding along; supposedly they came to act as backup, but she's pretty sure they just wanted to make fun of her. Jasper is live-tweeting the experience.

They're also taking her phone. That's going to be tough.

"How long have you been here?" Raven asks.

Bellamy glances over his shoulder. "A couple hours. I wanted to make sure everything was set. This one's been closed for a few weeks for repairs, so I needed to check that nothing was broken or dirty."

Jasper raises his hand, and Bellamy nods at him with a raise of his eyebrows. "Have you always been a nerd, or is this recent?"

"Both of you need to stop calling other people nerds," Clarke says. "Pot calling the kettle black."

"I told you, geek," says Raven.

"Technology enthusiast," says Jasper. He pauses and adds, "You're a nerd, if it helps."

"So much." She glances at Bellamy, who seems to be biting back a smile. "They're bringing my phone back tomorrow so I can make sure I don't have any pressing town shit. Do you want them to bring yours too?"

He shrugs. " I left it at home."

Clarke frowns. "But we said we could have them, right? For an hour, in case of emergency."

Bellamy shrugs. "I don't have work emergencies like you do."

"What about Octavia?"

"She usually calls someone a little closer if there's an emergency."

"Yeah, but--"

"I told her to call you," he says, which is--unexpected. Clarke checks her phone, and sure enough she has a text from an unknown number that just says, _Clarke?? WTF is Bell doing now?_

She texts back, _Long story_ , and adds Octavia to her contacts. Then, reluctantly, she hands over her phone. She hadn't checked it for the last hour, for practice, and it was already excruciating. Giving it to Raven is so much worse.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Raven says. "Don't die."

And then her friends are waving, and Clarke is alone in a historical house with Bellamy Blake.

"Do you know how to milk a cow?" he asks, cheerful. He is way more prepared for this than she is; she figured she'd be cool wearing her Halloween costume last year (Buttercup from _Princess Bride_ ), but Bellamy is actually period appropriate. Because of course he is. "I told them we'd take over care of the animals. They aren't using this house right now because it's the off-season, so we're actually helping."

Clarke blinks. "Do you know how to milk a cow?"

"Yeah, I worked here all through college." He grins. "You ready to lose?"

Clarke rolls up her sleeves, although the effect is immediately ruined when they slide back down. "Just show me the livestock."

*

It's _quiet_ ; that's the first thing she notices. Ark isn't a big town, but there's usually some background noise--cars, people talking, TVs, dogs. But out here, once the rest of the staff has left, it's dark and quiet, like the whole world has disappeared and only she and Bellamy remain.

"You know how to make a fire?" he asks. "We need to light the lamps."

"I know how to make a fire," she says. "I was a Girl Scout."

He grins. "I remember that, actually. I didn't buy cookies from you one year and you kicked me in the ankle and told me it was for a good cause. Never had a nine-year-old call me a dick before." He pauses. "Well, until O turned nine the year after that."

Clarke smiles a little. "To be fair, you were being a dick. Who doesn't buy cookies?"

"Yeah, totally deserved. Not at all an overreaction." He tosses her a taper. "Get the fire going and light some lamps? I'm going to go grab more wood."

Clarke does get the fire going and the lamps lit, which makes her feel a little better. She's still not really on Bellamy's level when it comes to preparedness, but that's fine. She doesn't have to last _better_ than he does, just longer.

Of course, once that's done, there's still a whole evening ahead of her. She doesn't miss TV, not really, but--if she can't work, she doesn't know what she's going to do. Which is, now that she thinks about it, a little sad. It's not like all she does is work, but she does work a lot. And when she's not working, she tends to hang out with Wells or her other friends. She can't remember the last time she had an evening alone with no plans.

Of course, it's not like she has _no one_ to hang out with. There is Bellamy.

And Clarke is still trying to figure that out too. Bellamy seems--well, it's not like they were ever good friends or anything, not like she's ever considered herself an expert on his moods. But he's different from how she remembers, and she wants to figure it out. Because it's hard to hate him when he's not arguing with her, and sometimes even when he is, because she knows he's doing this for the good of the town, just like she is.

And she does remember him, too, years of giving her and Octavia rides places even when he had better things to do, learning to braid hair and paint nails because their mother never wanted to help. Bellamy is a good guy, and she'd like it if they could make some kind of peace. Not just to make open forums less of a nightmare.

So when he comes in, she says, "Exciting plans?"

He checks the fire, nods like he's satisfied, and then smirks at her. "You're already bored, aren't you?"

"What do people do when they're not working?"

"Relax," he teases. "Haven't you ever been camping?"

"Just for work."

"Come on, Griffin, you worked for the parks department."

"I like outside," she protests, and has to smile when he breaks out laughing. "Okay, that did not sound convincing."

"Not really," he says, shaking his head in amusement. "That sounded like what a robot would say if it wanted to make someone think it knew what sunlight felt like."

"Thanks." She has to smile. "I _do_ love parks. And lakes and even hiking, sort of. I just--I like having _goals_."

"I do too," says Bellamy. "So, come on, first goal: dinner."

"Please tell me we don't have to actually kill and pluck one of those chickens."

"I asked if we could, they were not thrilled with the idea," he says, grinning over his shoulder.

"Like you could actually kill a chicken."

"Have you ever seen a chicken? They're dumb and annoying. It's harder to resist killing a chicken."

Clarke bumps her shoulder against his. "You forget I knew you when you were a kid, Bellamy Blake. Me and Octavia found that squirrel with a broken leg and we went and got you--"

He rubs his face, laughing. "Shit, I can't believe you remember that."

"You kept it in your shirt! It was so cute!"

"Yeah, and then it got better and bit me and O made me get rabies shots even though there was no possible way it could have had rabies. Like, there was zero chance."

Clarke has to smile. "She was so worried. She _cried_. She thought we got you killed."

"Yeah, that's why I got the shots." He rubs the back of his neck. "What happened to you, Griffin?"

Clarke frowns. "What does that mean?"

"You went off to college and then, what, grad school?"

"Yeah. Lots of people do that."

Bellamy starts assembling the weird, old-timey cooking stuff, with an ease and confidence Clarke wouldn't have expected. "I dunno. Just--" His jaw works, and Clarke has absolutely no idea where this is going. "It's cool you're back," he says, but his voice sounds a little strange. "Working so hard for the town. It's--I like seeing you around."

Clarke forces a laugh. "You like giving me shit."

He grins. "That too, obviously. Someone's got to."

"Plenty of people do."

"Okay, someone has to give you intelligent, well-reasoned, valid shit. No one else does that."

"No," Clarke agrees, smiling for real this time. "No one else does."

*

It turns out Bellamy actually worked doing the historic reenactments in college, not just around the village, and Clarke teases him mercilessly. He had to wear a costume and make butter and candles and whittle things. It's awesome. 

"Whatever, you wish you could whittle," he says.

"You could teach me to whittle."

"You want to learn to whittle?"

She shrugs. "It's like, what, seven? At most? It's way too early to go to bed, I don't have my phone, I didn't see any books, so, yeah. It's whittling or twiddling my thumbs."

"If I was being really cut-throat I wouldn't do it," says Bellamy, shaking his head. "I'd just let you die of boredom."

"But instead, you'll always put the squirrel in your shirt and let it bite you," Clarke says. 

He smirks. "Hey, if you want to get in my shirt and bite me--"

She shoves him, hoping he doesn't notice her blushing. It's not as if she's--it's just been a while since she had anyone. There had been Lexa, but Lexa moved to California, and that was two years ago. Clarke sucks at dating, and she sucks even more at casual sex. And Bellamy is attractive. For all he can be a dick, he's smart and he cares about shit, and that's always been the thing Clarke likes best in people. Bellamy's passionate about everything, and she wishes she'd tried to catch up with him sooner. Apparently arguing with her all the time at open forums didn't mean he hated her now or anything.

But it's not like it's too late, because he's here now, grinning, face open and pleased, and Clarke can't help laughing too. "Just give me something to whittle, okay?"

"Slow down, this is an _art form_ , remember. You can't just jump in and carve a puma. First you have to become one with the wood."

Clarke collapses against his shoulder, laughing. "You are so full of shit, Bell."

He stiffens a little, and she wonders if it's the contact or the nickname, which she hasn't even thought of in years. It just felt--natural.

"Whittling is very serious business," he tells her, voice grave, and Clarke schools her own face so she won't smile.

"Okay. I'm ready."

They whittle on the porch until it's too dark to see; Clarke ends up with a differently shaped stick with less bark on it, but it still feels like progress. She waves it at Bellamy, who laughs.

"Yeah, yeah, you're the best. You did it."

"So, what now?"

He snorts. "You really suck at not doing anything, Jesus Christ."

"Are you going to bed?"

"Okay, fine, no, I don't want to go to sleep. But we could, you know. Talk. You can tell me about work. That's almost as good as doing work, right?"

"Not even slightly."

But she does anyway, and Bellamy tells her about himself too. He's a history teacher at the high school, which she knew, and he seems to really love it, and Clarke feels like she's getting to know him again and for the first time, all at once.

"I swear to God, nothing makes me wish I had a time machine like teaching high school," he tells her.

"Yeah?"

"You just--remember how it was, being in high school? You'd have a thing for a girl and she'd be sending signals and you talked yourself out of doing anything, and it's all--" He waves his hand. "God, it's so fucking obvious now."

Clarke grins. "So now you're a love expert?"

He grins. "Just awkward teenage love. Still working on adult feelings."

She pats his shoulder. "You'll get there."

"At this rate, I'll figure it out in about ten years." He looks at her. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

He nudges her. "Boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

She breaks out laughing. "Oh god, are we going to play truth or dare? Do you want to braid my hair?"

"Sure, I'll braid your hair," he says, grinning. "Come on, I bet I've still got it."

Clarke laughs and sits in front of him, mostly because she will always call every bluff anyone gives her. But then Bellamy's hands are in her hair, sure but gentle, taking out bobby pins and smoothing out the tangles of the day with deft fingers.

"You're such a weirdo," she says.

"Your idea." There's a pause and then he says, "You didn't answer my question."

"Single. My last girlfriend was a cop, she got a new job in California a couple years ago. She asked if I'd go with her."

"And you wouldn't?"

"I love it here," she says. "It's not like I could never leave, but--this is home. And there's so much for me to do."

He laughs. "Clarke Griffin, saving the world one town at a time."

"I know it sounds dumb--"

"It doesn't," he says. "It's--it's really cool, how much you care." He's quiet for a minute and then says, "I didn't ever think much about the local politics stuff, until you started doing it. Not--I mean, I love this town too, I don't want it to be a shithole, but I had that whole uninspired millennial thing going, you know? Never felt like I could make much of a difference." He twists a band around her braid. "But you're pretty good at making people feel important."

Clarke's mouth is dry. "You argue with me all the time," she blurts out. "I thought you hated me."

"Nah." He gives the braid a light tug. "I just think you're wrong. Big difference." He stands and yawns, although it sounds a little forced. "Anyway, I'm going to bed. If you want to wash off or whatever, you have to heat water over the fire. Enjoy."

"Bellamy--"

He gives her half a smile. "Night, Clarke."

*

The next morning, Clarke heats up water and bathes, which is--weird and uncomfortable, but she manages, and Bellamy gathers eggs and makes breakfast, and it's honestly all so fucking surreal, hanging out with Bellamy Blake in an actual colonial house, to prove a point. And the point feels less and less important, because every time Bellamy smiles at her, it feels like this is more about him than anything else.

She's still going to win, of course. Clarke hates losing. But--if Bellamy's as stubborn as she is, and they have to be here for a while? It won't be the worst thing.

Raven shows up around--well, Clarke knows she's supposed to be coming at two, but time has lost all meaning. Bellamy has been teaching her how to use the loom, which is kind of weirdly cool, and she's only a little twitchy about all the real work she's not doing.

Still, as soon as the phone shows up, she can't help rushing to check absolutely everything.

"I feel like I should win just because I'm not doing that," Bellamy remarks, sounding amused.

She has a billion things, emails and tweets and texts and Facebook notifications, but it's the text from Octavia, not any of the work stuff, that catches her attention. _Does this mean Bell is actually talking to you like a normal person instead of civic-duty stalking you??_

_We might be living in a zero-tech house together until one of us stops being stubborn and admits defeat._

She's gotten through half her email when Octavia replies, _Soooooo you guys are going to die in there, right? Like, neither of you will ever give up and you will live the entire rest of your lives in that house, until you forget what you were fighting about._

Clarke snorts and shows Bellamy the phone.

"Why are you even texting her?"

"You gave her my number, she started it." She gives him a contemplative look. "You were trying to talk to me?"

"I was talking to you."

"Yeah, but--you could have just asked if I wanted to get a drink and catch up."

"Way less fun. Tell O I want to be buried here, so I'll still win. I'm gonna go get the fire going."

Raven is watching her, unimpressed. "Have you fucked him yet?"

"I don't even have access to deodorant," she says, which seems like a much more relevant comment before she says it. No one wants to fuck a girl with terrible BO. That's definitely a thing. There have probably been studies.

Raven looks even more unimpressed. "Yeah, that guy wants to fuck you so hard. He does not care at all."

Clarke sighs and checks a few more of her emails before she starts feeling twitchy. It's not--if Bellamy can go without checking _his_ phone, she can go without checking hers, right? It's a competition, and if she's giving in to her technological urges, she's losing. Even if she is way more likely to have emergency situations as a councilwoman than he is as a history teacher. It's the principle of the thing.

She gives her phone back to Raven, who actually seems rattled by it. In spite of everything, she feels a little proud. It's not easy, damaging Raven's calm.

"You know you've got another half an hour, right?"

"He's going to be smug about it," Clarke mutters. "Send Wells tomorrow, okay?"

"So he won't tell you to bang the weirdo?"

"He's not a weirdo!"

"All the more reason to bang him." Raven salutes. "Good luck with--" She waves her hand vaguely. "All this stupid bullshit. I'd say I'm rooting for you, but the whole thing is ridiculous, so I don't care. Also, I'm texting Miller to make fun of you."

"Yeah, I deserve that," she admits. "Tell him I'm going to die here."

"Way ahead of you."

Bellamy's inside with an old-looking book, and Clarke sits down on the bench next to him, glaring. "I thought there weren't books! You lied."

"I never actually answered the book question," he says. He shows her the cover, which says _Holy Bible_ , and she frowns. "See, that's why."

"It's interesting as an academic work--"

He laughs. "You are not going to get much farther in politics if you can't come up with something better to say about the Bible than _it's interesting as an academic work_ ," he teases. "Besides, I made this when I was working here. It's a Harry Potter book I painted to look like a Bible."

"There was a Harry Potter book here and you didn't tell me? I can't believe you!"

"There's only one. We can't share. And I didn't even know if it was still here. It's been like fifteen years."

Clarke shifts closer to him. "I can read over your shoulder."

He snorts. "That won't be weird."

"You can read aloud. Or we both can. We'll switch off chapters."

She can see his fingers flutter on the pages of the book, some strange, involuntary movement. "You seriously want us to read to each other?"

"Unless you want to braid my hair again."

"I can braid it while you read," he says, absent, like his mind is somewhere else. "You had longer to use your phone."

"Yeah, but--I can do without technology just as well as you can. If you don't have to check your phone--"

"You were actually salivating," he teases. "I thought you might need some alone time. That's how happy you looked."

"Shut up and read."

*

Nate Miller was Clarke's boss when she was in the Parks department, and he was a great boss, despite ideological differences, many verbal altercations, and one physical altercation where Clarke tried to jump on him and he held her at arms' length with his hand on her forehead, like they were in a goddamn cartoon.

They are very good friends, and she really wishes he hadn't come with Wells.

"We're going to have to figure out what to do about work," Clarke says.

"Have you considered not doing this?" Nate asks, without much feeling. Not that he's ever overly emotive, but he clearly does not have much hope for Clarke's ability to let shit go. He nods as Bellamy comes out. "Blake."

"Miller," says Bellamy, shaking his hand.

"I didn't know you guys knew each other," Clarke says, looking at Bellamy.

"It's not like it's a big town. And we went to high school together."

"You kind of dropped off the face of the earth," Nate observes.

"Well, my mom took off. I had all this shit to do." He shrugs, uncomfortable. "Turns out being eighteen doesn't magically make kids self-sufficient."

Clarke was already in college herself when Aurora Blake left, right after Octavia's eighteenth birthday. She heard about it, of course, even talked to Octavia about it a few times, but she doesn't really know the full story of what came after. Just that their mom decided once her children were legally adults, her obligations as a parent were over, and she disappeared with no forwarding address. Bellamy was just graduating from college himself, and the two of them had a hectic few months sorting out all the loose ends of their mother's life, apartment payments and insurance and other things, before it seemed to even out, at least for Octavia. She knew that Bellamy helped his sister go to her chosen college, in Chicago, and she knew that Octavia had met a guy out there and gotten married.

She hadn't known Bellamy was still here until he showed up at her first open forum, when she was still in the Parks department, and started yelling at her about zoning ordinances.

In retrospect, she could have asked him to get a drink and catch up too. She should have.

"Any crises I should know about?" she asks Nate, not even turning on the phone.

He raises his eyebrows marginally. "Everything is always a shitshow, you're in local government."

"Anything _pressing_."

"I think you're fine. Aside from whatever is happening here."

She hands the phone back. "Okay. I'll be at the office tomorrow." She looks at Bellamy. "Work as normal, still eat and sleep here?"

"You don't even want to look at your email?" he asks, amused. "You could have--I don't know. Someone could be wrong on the internet."

"That sounds more like your thing than mine. I bet you love getting into Wikipedia edit fights."

"I don't _love_ it," he grumbles. "But if I don't do it--"

She pats his shoulder. "Keep telling yourself that, Bell."

Nate looks between them and sighs. "Reyes might be right," he tells Clarke. "I'm leaving. I don't want to be involved with this. Don't miss work."

"Reyes is the one who came yesterday?" Bellamy asks, once Nate's gone.

"Raven, yeah."

"What's she right about?"

Clarke worries her lip, considering him. He's looking out over the horizon, watching Miller drive away. His profile makes her fingers itch for a pen, although she hasn't drawn in years. She remembers sketching him in high school, absent, pretending she didn't have a hopeless crush. Because it was hopeless, right? There wasn't even a point in letting it turn into a thing. Bellamy wasn't even living at home by that point, just back in town for holidays and vacations, slouching around the house in pajamas and drinking right from the carton to annoy his sister. There was no chance of anything happening.

And now he's--now she doesn't know what he is. But he comes to her meetings and bickers with her because she makes him feel like he can make a difference, and because he doesn't know how to just talk to her.

"She thinks I should fuck you," she says, and she's proud of how even her voice comes out.

She's already watching him, so she sees the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. "Huh," he says.

"Yeah," she agrees. "Huh."

*

Clarke spends the next morning at work catching up on ten billion emails and wishing she had Bellamy's number. It's--unfortunate. Not that she doesn't have time for a personal life, but it's not just a crush. She's _worried_ about him in a way she can't quite identify. After years of dealing with horrific government crises, Clarke has a finely honed sixth sense that tells her when something needs her meddling, and Bellamy is pinging her radar hard.

And she wants to make out with his face. Just a little.

She texts Octavia between meetings, while she's scarfing a sandwich. _What does your brother do?_

_History teacher._

_No, I mean, what does he DO? Like, for fun?_

_Internet fights, fights with the historical society, fights with you. Read. Nerd stuff, idk._

She types out _Does he have friends?_ and lets her thumb hover over the send button before she deletes it. It feels wrong, asking Octavia about that. It's a question for Bellamy, really.

 _I assume you guys are still being idiots_ , Octavia adds an hour later.

_Basically, yeah._

When she gets back to the house, Bellamy is sitting on the porch with a pile of papers, because they'd agreed physical papers were close enough to period-appropriate that they could bring them back. He's still dressed for school, a tie loose around his neck and a pressed button-down shirt, and he smiles at her when he sees her, like her being here improves his life.

Like he doesn't want to win this bet any more than she does.

"Is there a way we can change that stupid article without setting a bad precedent that's going to let future assholes pretend good laws don't mean what they really meant?" she asks, sitting down next to him.

"Probably."

She leans her head against his shoulder, smiles as he stiffens and then relaxes. "Can we figure it out?"

"Don't tell me you're giving up."

"You have some good ideas," she says. "You should tell me more of them. But I want to have a shower and shave and do my hair in an actual mirror before you take me out on a date, and I can't really do that here."

He laughs softly, and then turns his head to brush his lips against her temple. "So, we're talking about this over dinner," he says.

"I'm not giving up," she says, stubborn. "I'm compromising. It's what mature people do."

"Uh huh."

"I'm very mature."

"Very." There's a pause and then he says, "Hey, Clarke?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to get a drink with me sometime?"

"I thought we were getting dinner."

"And a drink. For the second date."

Clarke smiles and shifts closer. "The second date?"

"Third date, I'm going to take you back here so we can relive our fond memories of spending the weekend together and--"

Clarke catches his jaw and pulls him down to kiss her, and he makes a soft noise as he slides his hand into her hair, kisses her long and deep, kisses her until she's melting into him and she doesn't even remember where they are. Its only when her ass starts to go numb, sitting on the unforgiving wooden planks of the porch, that she comes back to reality, and she pulls back to find his eyes still closed, his mouth slightly parted, his whole body angled toward her.

"You want to get out of here?" she asks, a little breathless.

"Not yet," he says, and pulls her back for another kiss.

*

"So, you actually gave up," says Wells.

"I didn't give up, I _compromised_."

"She wanted him to smell good when she got laid," Raven interjects.

"Do you even work here?" Clarke asks.

"None of us work here," Raven shoots back. "Why are you guys hanging out in the Parks department? At least I'm pretending I'm still Miller's assistant. Jaha is a stripper--"

"Nurse," says Wells, tired. They have had this conversation before.

"You're a congresswoman--"

"Not yet."

"I'm just saying, you have no excuse. You just wanted to come brag about how laid you're getting."

"I'm not getting laid. We're going on a date. I still reserve the right to murder him if I have to. For the good of the community."

"Please," says Raven. "I saw you. You basically had hearts in your eyes. I thought I was gonna throw up."

Clarke can't help grinning. "We compromised and I'm going to get laid," she admits.

Most successful open forum _ever_.


End file.
